From Which Forgiveness Came
by schemester
Summary: There was guilt in years after Fred's death, but forgiveness in moments.


**Author's Note:** I was on the line about rating this as T or M, because the F-word is used once in this. If anyone thinks I should up it to M, please tell me. Thanks!

* * *

It took him years.

Years of alcoholic drink, of shut doors, of closed shutters.

Years of spats that turned into rows that transformed into some kind of peace made in long walks.

He could never remember how many years, but they were _years_ in the heaviest sense of the word. A few times he emerged from the _years_, only to go back in again and fit right into the dull reality between dreams that cut off too soon.

Percy was not one prone to this kind of state. He was one who hid his insecurities, his doubts – all of that behind an overbearing ambition. One that had driven a wedge between him and his family, growing and growing until _snap, _and it all fell apart.

_Snap _and a suitcase shrunken, _crack _and he was left on his own. His own doing, of course, as he realized much too late. He was always much too late. For understanding, and for Fred. For family and what mattered. For getting the door when various members of his family (only eight now) came by to see him, to console him in their own ways. His mum was, well, his mum. Very typical, touchy-feely as she was. His father clapped him on the shoulder and asked him about work, dragging a bit of life (stale) out of his son.

When it came to his siblings – George made the most difference. George was _impact _and George was _reckless. _George let him drink, indulged his desperate need for something to dull his pain, their pain. George, however, knew Percy better than Percy did. George pulled him out hell, and then Percy gave back all he could.

George had thrown himself into his joke shop, that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, after the wall hit by a spell in turn hit Fred and "knocked him dead." George's words, sometimes said jokingly when he and Percy drank together in Percy's (or sometimes George's) flat, said with a smirk that seconds turned into a choked gasp, and maybe tears, maybe sobs, but all that passed as time did. Inevitably.

The _years _weren't distinct, but the moments were. Moments when Percy felt himself smile, where it reached his eyes and a certain kind of life came back. Moments when he and George clinked their bottles together and downed them, and when each had to wipe back sweaty fringes as the other got sick in the loo.

A moment when Percy left his flat to visit George's (only George's now) shop, a moment when that moment changed and a simple visit turned into working there for several months. Learning to live a bit more like George did, with newfound vigor for the _life _he had still in him.

And the moment when he found his laughter again, one that he hadn't quite felt in years, even before his younger brother died. That was when George said one simple sentence, simple yet something _more._

"_You're __**back**__, Perce."_

He had come back physically many - too many to count - _moments _ago. But he hadn't quite been _back. _In every sense. But then that laugh had returned, the one with feeling and bursting with life. One that he might have previously categorized as _lost. _

When his sense of self came back as he laughed just like that several, countless more times, he found Fred. He didn't _find _him, no, hadn't dug up the sod's grave. Fred was there in that laugh, in Percy's blue eyes (even though Fred's had been _brown, _colour didn't matter); Fred was a part of him just as he was still a part of every Weasley. Fred had left, but he'd also left parts of himself in every one he'd met, most of all his _family. _

"_I am, aren't I?"_

Moments went and came, moments of clarity and disarray, moments of fun and work, and the heaviness of _years _passed away. And Percy Weasley found himself at his birthday (which one he couldn't quite ever remember), with family (and a few of the extended variety), then with colleagues from the Ministry (where he had found his home-away-from-home – not again, but for the first time), and finally with _the _George Weasley.

They still drank, but not for their pain. For celebration, for the end of the (unspoken) heavy years, for many transitions, but with a reminder of Fred in what only eyes could communicate. Eyes filled to the brim with those distinct moments that had brought them _here_ – here to something neither could quite describe, though George might have given a stab at it as his drink sloshed over the edge of his glass.

"When you die – and trust me, you'll die first big brother, it's the way of the land – you're gonna see Freddie. You're gonna – gonna see 'im," – a bit of George's drink spilled onto Percy's trousers, "And e's gonna be _Fred_ and I'm giving you – yeah, _you _– permission to punch him for me. For _dying _on me, the bloody arsehole. Then," George grinned, "Then you're gonna say that was from _his_ George, and then you're going to _hug the fuck _outta that bastard, and say that's from me, too. This is _your _job, Perce, best not – not _bugger_ it up. _Your_ job. Yours – mmm, yeah, yours… trust you for some reason…."

And George's head fell back against the sofa; not quite dead, no, but dead to the world in sleep as he passed out. And his glass tumbled out of his slackened grip, shattering because Percy didn't quite have his usual wits about him. He was less intoxicated, less rambling than George, but the words had invaded his mind and blurred everything else out. George's words echoed in his head, and though neither of them ever spoke of it again, Percy followed through.

"_Years ago we would've never trusted you, Perce."_

"_Well, Fred - only took me moments to gain it."_

_And Fred rubbed at the bruise forming around his eye, lazy smile on his face as Percy's arms squeezed tighter._

"_Don't tell George, but part of this is from me, too."_


End file.
